


storm dancer

by thefullergirl



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Best Friends, M/M, Mystery, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:48:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24076231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefullergirl/pseuds/thefullergirl
Summary: Doyoung traced a tentative finger across Taeyong’s knuckles. He’s always asked why they were often red, and his best friend would only smile and shake his head. It was how it always was.Doyoung thinks about how it won’t go back to that now.
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Lee Taeyong, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 25





	1. the slightest shift

**Author's Note:**

> okay i wrote this while i was stuck with my other wip (which i should really finish), but this idea won't leave me so
> 
> tags and rating might change over time! the tags are very vague, as this is a mystery. i'll update them when needed~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His house was empty, but it was rare that it wasn’t.

**July 2, 9:15am**

Reaching for his phone stuffed under his pillow, Doyoung turns the alarm off. His eyes are still closed, and he blindly reaches for the space beside him. Still warm, he notes, but empty.

After a few more minutes of snuggling into his cool sheets, he wills himself to sit up. The wall opposite his bed is still that slate gray, cold as ever. He vaguely remembers thinking about repainting it.

Slowly, he gets out of bed, letting his bare feet onto the wooden floor. There’s a slight pounding at his temple, but that never really went away. He dutifully makes the bed, smoothing over both sides. A pink bracelet is on the side opposite of his, and he only places it on top of the pillow.

Doyoung almost expects to hear the clatter of kitchen utensils when he walks out of his bedroom. When he doesn’t see the unmistakable tuft of pink hair, he silently chides himself. Of course. Taeyong would have left already, to go to his own job a little further into town.

He finds a plate on the kitchen counter, covered by one of those plastic cloches that keep the insects away. On the plate are a few vegetable pancakes, arranged carefully. They’re a little cold now, but Doyoung doesn’t mind.

Munching on a bite of pancake, he looks around their apartment. It’s not all that small, as they’ve both cramped into much tinier spaces before. Everything was as tidy as they could manage it and as simple as possible, and they’ve found ways to make it cozier somehow. Make it feel like a home they could live in.

It wasn’t much, it’s true. But they didn’t need much.

His eye catches on the clothes drying on their makeshift clothesline. He’s going to have to take them down and fold them when he gets home from work. Truthfully, a lot had to be done when they got home, mostly because they were far too absorbed in celebrating Taeyong’s fourth birthday in Busan last night.

Honestly, Doyoung didn’t remember much from last night, but maybe it was best. Undoubtedly, they would have done something stupid that they don’t want to ever admit to doing. It was how it had always been, even before they moved. A tradition of sorts.

Doyoung finishes his pancakes, standing up to wash his plate in the sink. He considers getting one of his bottles of tea in the fridge, but thinks against it. He should really cut down on the sugar this early in the morning.

Stepping into the shower, he can still smell the remnants of Taeyong’s sweet-smelling bodywash. Sometimes, he’d steal some, hoping that Taeyong wouldn’t notice that he smelled faintly of him. (He almost always noticed.) 

Today, he decides against it, what with the small amount left in the clear bottle. Doyoung makes a mental note to buy him some more on the way home.

Twenty minutes later, he’s out of the shower, sweating already from the early summer heat. Doyoung longs to have better airconditioning, but he pushes the thought out of his mind. They can’t really get that right now.

As he slips on his uniform, he steals a glance to the bracelet on the pillow, a stark color against the faded blue pillowcase. It’s Taeyong’s favorite. He tries not to leave without it, but sometimes it just slips his mind.

Doyoung leaves not long after.

“You look worse than all the other July 2nds so far,” Donghyuck remarks, pouring more of the ice cream mix into the machine.

Doyoung doesn’t really have the energy to throw the crumpled up receipts at him. “You say that every year.”

Shrugging, Donghyuck steps down from his stepping stool. “That’s because you look worse every year. Do I even want to know what you did last night?”

Doyoung only shakes his head. “You’re assuming I myself remember.”

The younger boy only tuts at him, taking off his cap momentarily to shake his curls out. They were lighter now, a contrast to his golden skin. It didn’t matter if Busan was mostly gray, the boy always seemed to be warm all year round. Doyoung has always understood why some of the customers looked at Donghyuck for a beat too long.

“At least you don’t get into trouble, unlike some of the people around here.” Donghyuck makes a pointed look at one of the aisles, where they both know too well of a certain customer picking out his third bottle of the day. It was just 11:30. The pair let out a sigh.

Time ticks by differently in a convenience store, even more so if they’re sitting behind the counter. There wasn’t really a clock here other than the broken one that Donghyuck had long shoved into one of the cabinets. Sometimes it would show the right time, other times both Doyoung and Donghyuck didn’t really know what the right time was anymore.

Arguably, their shift was better than handling the dead of the night, but not by much. Maybe there just wasn’t really a good shift if you’re working at a convenience store that hasn’t had significant repairs over the last ten years or so. Being tucked into the part of town that had places most people wouldn’t really explore while sober certainly didn’t help.

Some time ago, Doyoung read one of those screenshots from Tumblr that were posted on Facebook. It had said that convenience stores were liminal spaces, a place of crossing over. A space where you leave something behind, but you aren’t fully into something else quite yet. 

At that time, Doyoung didn’t really understand. It was an interesting concept, but he didn’t quite grasp how a convenience store could be that.

It took him all of his first few weeks at the store to understand then. Not quite explain to anyone else, but he understood.

In the lull after lunchtime, he sweeps the floors as Donghyuck puts more hotdogs into the steamer. Doyoung has always liked the feeling of routine, a system he could fall back into. Routine meant he didn’t have to think all too much. It meant he didn’t have to waste time trying things. Familiar.

Everyday was routine, with few changes in between. Sometimes Donghyuck would offer to sweep the floors, as Doyoung ran to the nearest bank to get change. Sometimes Johnny, one of the people in the shift before them, would linger long enough for them to try whatever brownie concoction he’d tried making the day before. Sometimes Taeyong would settle on convenience store ramyun rather than bother cooking. His life hadn’t exactly been about breaking routine, but he appreciated it every now and then.

Usually routine would end at a certain time, and he’d know it was time to go home. Broken clocks be damned, it almost felt ingrained in him the way he knew when their shifts would end.

Now, though, with Donghyuck sipping on his second cup of Coke that day and Doyoung flipping through a tabloid magazine, he just let the hours drag on. It will be over soon enough. Like it always is.

When it’s 10 minutes to 6 and the next people up for their shifts are already there, Doyoung thinks of texting Taeyong. He should ask what he wants for dinner, as it’s now Doyoung’s turn to cook.

Before he can type anything, though, he receives a text. Doyoung fights down a smile lest Donghyuck sees and tries to get a peek at his phone.

 **[JAEHYUN]** **  
** **come over, i’ll give you some kimchi jjigae.**

He fires off a quick reply, feeling the giddiness rise in his body. It had been a while since they got together, mostly because things were becoming hectic at Jaehyun’s place since his whole family arrived for the summer. They always texted and called, sure, but Doyoung missed falling into his arms after his exhaustingly normal days.

Licking his lips, Doyoung types out a text to Taeyong to tell him he’ll be a little late. Surely his best friend will understand. He always does.

At the door, Donghyuck zips his light jacket over his uniform, taking the helmet his boyfriend Mark offers him. He says his usual goodbyes to Doyoung, seemingly not noticing the growing smile on Doyoung’s face. Doyoung watches the pair zip away before turning towards the direction of Jaehyun’s house. It wasn’t far, and he’d missed his early evening treks to the familiar place.

Doyoung has always loved the familiar.

He comes home to a quiet apartment. Not really out of place, as sometimes Taeyong would just lie down on the bed in his own room and mull over things, only to have Doyoung knock on the door to urge him to eat something. 

Gently, he sets down the canvas bag with the glass container full of stew. He and Taeyong could have it for at least 3 meals, he thinks. Doyoung takes it out gingerly, setting it onto the countertop quietly.

“Yongie?” he calls out. Instead of a response, he hears Ruby pad into the kitchen, and Doyoung reaches down to give her a scritch on the head.

“You home, Yongie?” he tries again, a little louder. Ruby tilts her head at him.

Crouching down, Doyoung pets her again, running his hands over her soft fur. “Have you seen your dad?”

She only looks at him with her big eyes. Doyoung thinks about the last time he filled her bowls, and goes to check. Sure enough, both food and water bowls are empty, which wouldn’t have been the case if Taeyong was home.

Quietly, Doyoung fills the bowls, letting her eat. He doesn’t even know why he’s being quiet, when there’s no one to disturb. Ruby seems grateful, her tail wagging as she munches away.

Pulling out his phone, he checks if he has any new messages. There aren’t any from Taeyong, but there’s one from Jaehyun asking if he’s gotten home safely.

Again, not really out of the ordinary. Sometimes Taeyong would crash at Ten’s place for the night, tired after a whole day of teaching classes to kids and teens. He’d be back in the morning, and Doyoung would sometimes need to persuade him into resting a bit more before going to class.

It wasn’t anything to worry about, but Doyoung still felt his stomach twist. God, he must be hungry.

He heats some of the stew in the microwave, watching Ruby finish up her bowl of food while he waits. She seems a little unsettled at not seeing Taeyong for most of the day. Guess that makes the two of them.

“He’ll be home,” he says, but he’s not sure if it’s for the dog or for himself.

Doyoung eats in silence, staring at Ten’s number and debating whether or not he should call. At this hour, Ten usually wouldn’t really want to be disturbed, so he doesn’t press the button. He bites his lip, finishes his food, and washes up. For a moment, he just looks at the laundry he still hasn’t taken off the clothesline.

In bed, he looks at the bracelet on the pillow next to his for a few minutes. Shaking his head, Doyoung takes it and puts it on the bedside table on his side. 

The pink is still behind his eyelids when he finally closes his eyes.

**June 30, 4 years ago, 1:30am**

“Are you scared?”

Doyoung looks over at Taeyong on the passenger seat, his head leaned against the window. The gas station lights made his blue hair glow an almost alien color.

He takes a sip of the crappy coffee from the store. “There’s nothing to be scared of where we’re going.”

Taeyong licks his lips, pulling the jacket tighter over his body. It wasn’t even that cold anymore, but Taeyong was always a bit more sensitive to the temperature. Doyoung is already thinking of reaching into his backseat and getting out a blanket from one of the piles of stuff.

“I’m scared,” Taeyong says quietly, looking out at the nearly deserted gas station. His eyes seemed impossibly large in the reflection on the car window. 

Doyoung bit the inside of his cheek. He knew. And he wished he could do something about it, but there really wasn’t much that he could do.

He just wanted to be able to help, and doing this was his only idea.

He finds himself wishing it were warmer, somehow, even though he’s only in a tshirt and jeans. Something about the night, about the time, about the quiet of the town they were going to be melded into soon sent a chill up his spine. 

Taeyong knew how much he hated changing so much of his life. He had known that since before Doyoung could even remember. Doyoung likes familiarity. None of this was familiar in the slightest. He should’ve been scared.

He isn’t, and he didn’t want to think too much about why he isn’t.

Tentatively, he reaches out a hand to squeeze at Taeyong’s arm. His best friend doesn’t flinch away, almost melting into the touch. He looks tired, so utterly out of it that Doyoung thinks he might have to haul him up the stairs of their apartment building.

“We can’t…” Doyoung takes a deep breath, watching as Taeyong huddles into his jacket even more. “We can’t go back.”

It takes a few moments, and Doyoung thinks he sees Taeyong flinch, but the other man nods. Slow, hesitant, but nods all the same. 

“I know.” It’s even quieter now, and Doyoung strains to hear it. He hopes he just imagines the waver in it.

Doyoung finishes his coffee and his oddly damp pork bun. He crumples up the trash and stuffs it back into the plastic bag. 

“We can’t be scared forever.”

There’s no response from the passenger seat, but Doyoung wasn’t expecting one anyways. He starts the car up again, letting it splutter to life. Eyes on the road, he doesn’t feel any of the fatigue he thought he’d have.

It just wasn’t the time to be tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i kinda wanted to explore writing them both so yeah ;;  
> kudos, bookmarks, comments very much appreciated!
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/evnsangcvlt)  
> [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/evnsangcvlt)


	2. scraped knuckles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Under the stars, it was easy to pretend that things would work out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for the chapter: blood

**March 23, 6 years ago, 9:35pm**

They were lucky they could still see the stars in the city. 

He’s not entirely sure what got into their minds that night, just randomly laying out mats on Taeyong’s tiny balcony so they could look up at whatever stars they could see. It wasn’t easy, what with Seoul suffocating the starlight. They made do, though, opening cans of cold tea as they tried to make out constellations.

Doyoung has never known much about constellations. Never really needed to. But he’s content to stare at them, making up shapes that don’t even actually exist as constellations.

Up there, on Taeyong’s 5th floor balcony, Doyoung thought for the quickest of moments that they could have peace in this city. Away from the lives they had. Away from the noise that pounded in his head night after night. Just...away.

After what must have been a mini eternity on the cold tiled floor, Taeyong nudges him with his knee. “Talk to me.”

Doyoung finishes his can of tea. “That’s my line.”

Taeyong laughs, drawing his knees to his chest. “Well, neither of us are talking right now, so I figured you should start it.”

Staring at the lights of the apartment opposite theirs slowly turn off one by one, Doyoung sighs. “Neither of us need to talk.”

There’s a sound of another can opening. “You want to, though.”

His foot clangs against the cheap metal barricade. It was his third night in a row here, well aware that he could just go back to his own apartment, not squeeze into Taeyong’s futon and sleep in his own bed, eat his own food. He really could.

There were...things that he wanted to ask about. He’d come here with those questions firm in his mind and searing his notepad into his back pocket. 

Now though, with him in borrowed pajamas and his own scent so far hidden in the perfumes of Taeyong’s bodywash, he didn’t know how to ask any of them.

“Will you say that we should talk next time again?” Taeyong chides, but there’s no real force in it. He slips his socked foot through the gaps in the barricade.

Doyoung looks out again. There’s so much, so much that he wants to know. It’s been gnawing at him for god knows how long.

But this is Taeyong. He’s known the guy for probably more than half of his life now. Doyoung should know him inside and out at this point. He knows his scars, knows his changes in tone, knows just how he likes the instant ramyun that he claims to stay away from. He knows too much.

And yet, Doyoung is aware that he knows nothing, really. Some things will never quite get straight answers. Some things will never even see the light of day. Doyoung could work day in and day out to chip away the walls he never knew the true purpose of, and he still would end up with nothing. Was it to keep something out, or keep something in? He might never know.

Because Taeyong is warm, intelligent, charismatic. He turns heads, and their eyes always stay a bit longer. They wonder what it’s like to know him, to get that infectious laugh out of him and have his soft hands on theirs. For as long as Doyoung remembers, it’s been like that.

Lee Taeyong has never had to tug on somebody’s pigtails for attention. In fact, back then, everyone followed him like moths to a flame, just wanting some of that pretty, pretty light. They’d be drawn to him, the tinkling of the bells on his Pororo schoolbag leading them like church bells in the distance.

That’s what happens, right? Get too close and you get burned. Get too caught up that you barely see anything else.

Beautiful. Lee Taeyong had always been beautiful. If he wanted to, if he had just asked, maybe the world would be given to him with no hesitation. His perfect bone structure and those eyes that seemed like they could fit all the constellations out there and his knuckles that are too pretty to fight with and his words that never faltered..

Lee Taeyong had never been a fighter, not like that. Which is why Doyoung would take those hands in his, not caring if his own felt rough in comparison. He would run his thumbs over the knuckles that were always red, always cut up. He had always thought that those hands won’t look all that pretty anymore if Taeyong had somehow gotten them all mangled. 

Lee Taeyong was not a fighter, not like that, so why did his knuckles look like it? Doyoung was aware that Taeyong was waiting for him to ask, but he never did.

Doyoung never truly let himself be caught up with him. He was drawn, yes. He had followed around the pretty boy in the school yard, yes. But he didn’t look at Taeyong like he personally replaced the sun in the sky.

He looked at Taeyong as that 6 year old in the bright overalls, and decided he needed a hug.

Admittedly, he still looks at Taeyong like that.

Sighing, Doyoung takes those hands again. They’re a little cold from the night air, and not quite as soft as they used to be, but it’s still the hands that Doyoung knows best.

He ghosts his thumbs over the scraped up knuckles, wishing that he could take away whatever made him do this.

“Next time,” Doyoung breathes out. He gives Taeyong’s hands a little squeeze. “I promise.”

**July 3, 9:15am**

Like clockwork, Doyoung wakes up. He doesn’t really remember his alarm going off. Blindly, yet again, he reaches for the space beside him, the space he always leaves. Colder now than it had been yesterday.

He sits up, stares at his cold, slate gray wall. Doyoung thinks about repainting it, maybe a baby blue.

Slowly, he gets out of bed, letting his bare feet onto the wooden floor. There’s a slight pounding at his temple, but it never goes away. He dutifully makes the bed, smoothing over both sides. The pink bracelet stares at him from his bedside table, and he thinks of putting it on the pillow. After some time, he just decides to slip it onto his own wrist.

Doyoung almost expects to hear the clatter of kitchen utensils when he walks out of his bedroom. When he doesn’t see the unmistakable tuft of pink hair, he silently chides himself. Of course. Taeyong wasn’t back yet. He didn’t know when he would be.

There’s no plate covered by a plastic cloche today. Doyoung rummages through the fridge for something to eat, and after finding nothing that could be done quickly, he gets one of Taeyong’s overly sugary cereals.  _ He wouldn’t mind _ , he thinks to himself. Taeyong never really minds.

He pours out a bowl for himself, finishes off the last of their milk. Doyoung will have to buy more on the way home. Vaguely, he remembers that he has to buy more of Taeyong’s bodywash too.

As with most mornings, he eats quietly, looking around their apartment. It’s not all that small, as they’ve both cramped into much tinier spaces before. Everything was as tidy as they could manage it and as simple as possible, and they’ve found ways to make it cozier somehow. Make it feel like a home they could live in.

Like that coffee table they got from a garage sale down the street. It has paint splatters and specks of glitter now from one of Taeyong’s many projects. And the mismatched frames they bought when either one of them passed by the store. And the old but serviceable couch, with a throw blanket on it at all times and rings from Taeyong’s coffee mug.

It wasn’t much, it’s true. But they didn’t need much.

His eye catches on the clothes drying on their makeshift clothesline. He’s going to have to take them down and fold them when he gets home from work. Truthfully, a lot had to be done when he got home, because he didn’t get anything done the past few days. Doyoung didn’t want Taeyong to come home to that.

When he finishes, he puts the bowl in the sink. He stares at it, and for some reason he doesn’t feel like washing it quite yet. 

Doyoung hears Ruby padding into the kitchen, the smallest of whines in her throat. He grips the edge of the sink until his knuckles turn white. 

“He’s not back yet, is he?” he asks so quietly. Turning to the dog, Doyoung feels like everything that’s been holding him up is sinking. Ruby only looks at him with sad eyes. Of course. She doesn’t fully understand yet. He doesn’t feel like explaining.

The logical move would be to call Ten. Just to check. Doyoung just needed some sort of peace of mind before it all frays out and he’s left in a heap.

He shouldn’t be afraid, right? This has happened before. Taeyong’s phone would die. He’d be too exhausted to even get up from Ten’s pull-out mattress. He’d be back, a little embarrassed. Taeyong would explain, even though the story has always been the same, and Doyoung will just make a fond little noise in his throat and envelop him in an embrace, no matter how much Taeyong squirmed.

All he needs to do is call Ten.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he calls the next number he can think of, letting it ring as he holds his phone patiently to his ear. Ruby seems to be pouting up at him.

Johnny picks up on the fourth ring. “Hey, Doyoung,” he says brightly. The unmistakable beeping of a fire alarm can be heard through the phone. “Uh, gimme a sec, I’ll move into a different room.”

There’s some shuffling, and a muffled command to somebody else in the room. Indeed, the sound seems to fade away. “What’s up?”

Johnny lived three floors away from them. It was his rest day, and Doyoung has no doubt in his mind that he was whipping up another batch of something to feed him and Donghyuck the next day.

Doyoung stares at the neon green frame on the table by the couch, and even from this distance, he can recognize their smiling faces. Graduation day, far too long ago. He takes a deep breath.

“Uh,” he begins, trying to find the words. “Can you um, come over for a sec? Just need some help with something.”

It almost surprises him that his voice doesn’t waver. Ruby whines again, and Doyoung gives her a sympathetic look. He needs to feed her again soon.

“Oh, sure!” Johnny says. There’s a little metallic clatter as Johnny sets something down. “Do you need me to bring anything? Like a toolbox or whatever?”

“No, no,” Doyoung replies, shifting his attention back to the photo frame. “Just you.”

“Okiedoks! Be there in a few, just gotta finish this one thing.”

“Take your time, it’s fine,” Doyoung says. It is fine. There’s no actual rush.

When he puts the phone down, he stares at his screen. His wallpaper is a photo of their last beach trip, and somehow it feels like it was way too long ago.

Doyoung dials another number, and he clutches his phone securely to his ear.

He stares straight ahead as the person on the other line picks up.

“Yeah, 112? I think...I think something happened in my home.”

_ “May I get your name and address, sir?” _

“Kim Doyoung,” he says, without hesitation. “I live in Dalsan-ri. In the old apartment complexes at the edge of it.”

_ “Okay Mr. Kim, I need you to tell me what happened.” _

Doyoung looks at the blood on the floor, soaking into their freshly laundered carpets. It’s dark and the pool is large enough to think that whoever’s blood that is, it’s unlikely they’re still alive. He looks at the splatters on the mismatched frames, on the yellowed leather couch, on their slate gray walls. He thinks of the streaks he’s left on the fridge, on his bowl, on the sink, on his bed. He thinks of the way his phone is slipping from his hand.

“There’s blood.” His voice is the calmest it’s ever been. “There’s so much blood. It’s not mine.”

_ “Mr. Kim, I need you to stay on the line with me. Can you do that?” _

He nods. “Yes,” he replies. “I’ll stay on the line.”

There isn’t much else he understands if the person on the other end was still saying something to him. He only holds his phone to his ear, vaguely aware of the way he’s dripping all over Taeyong’s favorite bracelet, making sounds to ensure that he was still there. He is calm. He is as calm as ever.

Johnny is the first to arrive, and he very promptly drops the plate he’s carrying to the floor. His eyes are the widest Doyoung has seen them. He seems to be saying something, maybe even screaming, but Doyoung doesn’t hear.

Soon enough, there are other people coming in, all too much. He thinks he hears Ruby barking. The pounding at his temple worsens. Doyoung stands very still by the kitchen counter, even when his hand has already dropped his phone.

_ Everyone’s here _ , he thinks, and he wants to close his eyes. Something to take the pain away. He just wants to be away.  _ Everyone’s here _ .

Taeyong isn’t.

Somehow, at some point, he gets pretty much dragged out. Doyoung doesn’t fight. What for?

But he takes one last look at his home,  _ their _ home, and thinks about how Taeyong wouldn’t like the mess that it has become. He won’t like the disinfectant they will use. He won’t like their photos being put into evidence bags.

Doyoung thinks of the laundry he hasn’t folded yet. He thinks of Ruby’s empty bowls. He thinks of the milk and the bodywash he still has to buy.

Before he closes his eyes against the hammering into his skull, Doyoung looks at the bracelet on his wrist, the pink now marred by blood. Taeyong wouldn’t like that either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos, bookmarks, comments very much appreciated!
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/evnsangcvlt)   
>  [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/evnsangcvlt)


	3. compliance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doyoung wishes he wasn’t met with silence, not this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm really writing this quicker than the fic i'm supposed to be writing hhhhh

**July 3, 11:45 am**

“You do know what this looks like?”

The clothes are itchy. They smell like they’ve been in a cabinet too long, all its scratchy, oversized, clinical blue splendor. It’s clean though, so there’s that.

Doyoung has complied with everything. All the swabbing of blood from his hands. Giving them his clothes. Letting them scrape off anything else useful. He’s quiet, because there’s not much use in talking. Everyone doesn’t seem to want to be quiet though, but he just tunes them out.

There are questions, and he answers. None of them seem to be asking the right ones, but who is he to know what the right ones are?

God, the water at the station is awful. He taps the plastic cup with his fingers, watching as it sloshes around. His nostrils are still filled with the scent of old leather and stuffy cabinets and antiseptic. Doyoung gulps down the water.

It’s almost summer, but it’s unbearably cold here. Doyoung wishes they gave him something that didn’t feel like paper. Not that he could really complain at this point.

Detective Jung laces laces his fingers together and stares at him. There aren’t any circles under his eyes, and Doyoung briefly wonders how terrible he must look compared to him. For a while, he only looks at how the dust motes are swirling between them.

“If you cooperate, this will end soon.” 

Doyoung takes a glance at his wrist, thin as ever. He thinks of the bracelet he handed over not long ago. Slowly, he nods.

“Okay then.” There is a creak as the detective leans back in his chair. “Mr. Kim, tell me what you know.”

_ Mr. Kim. _ He’s never heard Jaehyun call him that before. Doyoung supposes that he should be hurt at how cold it seems, how detached, but he finds that he feels next to nothing.

He licks his lips. “Not much.” Doyoung takes another gulp of the weird water, and he doesn’t meet Detective Jung’s eyes.

For some reason, he can feel the way that the detective’s hands clench under the table.

“Whatever you know. It can help us, help you.” It’s almost pleading, Doyoung notes. He doesn’t like it.

When he doesn’t answer, the chair creaks again. Detective Jung is leaning forward, enough for Doyoung to take a whiff of that shampoo he always liked using. Doyoung takes his hand away from his cup before he thinks of crumpling it.

“You do know what this looks like, right?” His voice is so quiet, an edge of something else in his voice. For a moment, Doyoung thinks about how his words may not be picked up by the cameras or anything on him.

He does know what it looks like. He was  _ there _ . Doyoung stared at that pool of blood for long before he even called it in. They found him calm and collected and too quiet for their liking. On top of that, he’s contaminated a whole crime scene. What sort of sane person would do any of that?

Doyoung picks at the skin on his lip. “I woke up at 9:15, like always. I was getting myself breakfast because I needed to go to work. Ruby was waiting for breakfast too, so I was about to feed her.”

The detective’s eyes seem to bore into him. Before he has a chance to say anything else, Doyoung pipes up again.

“Where’s the dog?”

He thinks he wasn’t meant to hear the sigh from the detective. “Safe.” Doyoung nods at that, peeling the skin off his lip and letting himself taste his own blood.

After a while of silence, Detective Jung breaks it. “And last night, did anything happen?”

Doyoung meets his gaze then, blinks a few times. “I got off of work at 6pm. My — ” He takes another sip of his water, and sees the man opposite him follow the motion. “My boyfriend texted me. Said he wanted to give me kimchi jjigae. I missed him.”

He lets that hang in the air for a bit. Jaehyun doesn’t let his gaze falter. He only stares at Doyoung like he doesn’t know him quite yet. Doyoung silently wishes that they would turn the airconditioning down.

“I texted Taeyong that I would be home late.” Briefly, he wonders if the detective doesn’t need to write this down. All he seems determined to do is to stare at Doyoung until he somehow cracks. “I got home around 9 and he wasn’t there.”

Detective Jung takes in a deep breath. “Who is this Taeyong?”

_ Like he doesn’t know, _ Doyoung says to himself. “Lee Taeyong.” He watches as he’s granted a nod. “He’s my roommate. My best friend.”

A notepad comes out, finally, along with a pen from the detective’s front pocket. Doyoung has a feeling that he won’t actually write anything down on it.

“Where is Taeyong?” The tone is so casual, and it makes Doyoung’s skin prickle.

He presses his lips into a line. “I don’t know.”

“Why?” The question makes Doyoung want to either throw up or punch through the stupid double-sided mirror where he knows he’s being watched.

Willing himself into his calmest tone, he says, “He didn’t come home.”

The pen is clicked, but still no words are written down on the clean sheet of paper. “Any idea where he is?”

Doyoung shakes his head. “He hasn’t answered texts or calls.”

Detective Jung’s eyes are as dark as the coffee he was almost offered. “Does he do this often?”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Doyoung nods. “He usually tells me he’s coming home when he can. Explains once he’s home.”

Something is scribbled onto the paper. Doyoung sees that it’s barely anything. “How long has it been since you last saw him?”

Doyoung takes a moment, supposedly to count the hours, but he’s been counting all this time. “Around 36 hours. I last saw him on July 1st, before we fell asleep. I woke up yesterday with him gone.”

“Nothing to say where he went?” At the shake of Doyoung’s head, the detective tries again. “No one to see him go?”

“He usually leaves early, earlier than most. Taeyong teaches dance to kids in the morning, and it’s far from the apartment.”

“Did you text him when you got home on Monday?”

“No.”

“Did you let anyone know when you got home on Monday? Or did anyone see?”

He thinks of Jaehyun’s text, and how he didn’t even bother replying. He thinks of the call he talked himself out of doing. Doyoung is silent for a moment too long.

The pen is dropped to the metal table with a little  _ clang _ . “So, to recall, no one saw him go, and essentially no one can vouch for where you were from 9 last night to when you called in today. Correct?”

The last word feels like Doyoung has a laser pointer to his chest and he’d be shot to death soon. A little over 12 hours. He had not been in contact with anyone in 12 whole hours.

“Correct,” he answers, keeping his gaze on the detective. 

Detective Jung nods then, leaning back. He seems to search Doyoung’s face for something that Doyoung will never know about. 

Holding his gaze, Doyoung drains his cup, letting the water wash over his stinging mouth.

Ten looks like he’s debating throwing his cup noodles at Doyoung. Not that Doyoung can blame him. It might honestly be helpful.

He’s on Ten’s futon, changed into some spare clothes Taeyong had left when he last came over. They’re a little small, and smelling too much like Taeyong that Doyoung feels like he’s going to be nauseous. A now-cold cup of tea is in his hands, so he watches the leaves swirl around idly. Ten is at his tiny kitchen counter, regarding him quietly.

For the first time in the years he’s known the man, Doyoung wishes he wasn’t met with silence.

“Please, just…” Doyoung trails off, looking at the way Ten’s laundry is blowing about in the wind. “Tell me I’m not going crazy.”

He allows himself to meet Ten’s gaze, and he really shouldn’t have. Ten’s mouth is pressed into a tight line, and his eyes behind the glasses are unreadable.

The sound of the cup and chopsticks hitting the table makes Doyoung flinch. “I can’t tell you that.”

Doyoung deserves that. He draws his knees to his chest, wincing at the way he feels the fabric stretch on his legs. This was one of Taeyong’s favorite pairs.

_ Is. _ It still is. Doyoung shakes his head.

“Doyoung.” The voice makes Doyoung look up. It’s the worst version of Ten’s voice he’s ever heard, hurt and enraged and pleading. “What. Happened.”

He licks over the parts of his lips that he’s bitten raw. “I told you. I don’t know.”

“You can’t know nothing! You were the last one that saw him, the last one he was with. You were the last one in that apartment.” He’s seething, and Doyoung doesn’t need to see to know that Ten’s gripping the countertop. “You have to know  _ something _ .”

Doyoung thinks he sees a lone tear drop into his tea. “I don’t,” he spits out, bitterly. He hates how his voice sounds.

“The blood.” Ten might as well just throw him out the window. Doyoung wonders if the 7-storey drop would take the nightmare away. “Why was there so much blood, Doyoung?”

He can only shake his head. His lungs don’t feel like they want to take in oxygen right now. Maybe he can just lie down on this futon and give in to some sort of respiratory failure.

They’re quiet, so quiet that they can hear the loud music from the apartment next door. Normally, Ten wouldn’t really mind it, maybe blast his own loud music. Now, he looks like he is seconds away from storming out and stabbing his neighbor.

Instead, because apparently he has some semblance of self-control left, he slumps into the bar stool and rubs at his temples. The glasses come off somehow, and only now does Doyoung see how his eyes are red-rimmed.

“ _ Fuck _ .” Ten looks hell bent on never opening his eyes ever again. “All this time I thought he was just sick or something. I didn’t want to worry about it during class.”

Doyoung returns to staring at the tea leaves like they’ll tell him his future. In truth, they are only black things floating in his cup. “I thought he was with you.”

“He couldn’t have just up and gone like that, right?” Doyoung can hear how much Ten doesn’t believe that. “He can’t just leave without saying anything to you or me, right?”

Carefully, Doyoung takes a sip of his tea. He hates it, hates the bitterness coating his tongue. “You don’t really know Taeyong that well.”

Ten shoots him a look, and it’s not as venomous as he probably intended. “You don’t either.”

Even though neither will say it out loud, he’s right. It seems like neither know Lee Taeyong at all.

“Do you believe me?” Doyoung asks, a little shaky. He doesn’t know what answer he expects, not anymore.

Ten’s dark eyes look straight at him, and Doyoung doesn’t know what emotion he sees there, if any. “I can’t answer that, either. Not right now.”

Fair enough. Doyoung doesn’t think anything he said is believable either.

And because they’re both afraid of saying it, Doyoung attempts, “Do you think —”

A chopstick is chucked at him. “Shut up. We are  _ not _ going to assume anything.”

Doyoung takes a deep breath. He doesn’t want to think about it either, not until he gets confirmation. They don’t even know if it’s Taeyong’s blood. They don’t know—

“Stop thinking,” Ten warns. He slumps further down, and Doyoung thinks Ten will start pounding his head against the granite. 

Doyoung tries to remember how the blood looked, but it’s so distant now. Like maybe his mind did him a favor by erasing the memory slowly until there was nothing left to agonize over. He might be allowed to go back to the apartment at some point, maybe live in it again. There won’t be the dark pool or any of the streaks anymore.

“Doyoung,” Ten says again, and it’s so close to a cry that Doyoung feels every bone in his body start to collapse with the sound. “We need to find him.”

He only nods, even if he’s unsure that Ten will even see. Doyoung takes another sip of his tea, wishing he was drinking alcohol instead. He just wants to be numb, forget until the next morning. And maybe the one after that.

Gently, he hums a tune, long ingrained in him without knowing the actual source. He hums to himself, and a part of him wants to sing, cry at the slowly setting sun just outside Ten’s window.

“We will,” he says, but it doesn’t seem to be heard. That’s fine. “We’ll find him.”

**November 11, 3 years ago, 8:10am**

Stirring, Doyoung doesn’t exactly know why he woke up. It definitely feels much too early to be up on a weekend, so he groans and buries himself back into the pillows.

When he can’t seem to fall back asleep, he pushes the covers off, grumbling. The sunlight streaming through his tiny window isn’t very warm, but he appreciates it. The next few days may be the last times he’ll see any semblance of sun before the winter, and besides, Busan was never really full of sunshine either.

After a while, his eyes adjust, and he sees Taeyong in the room, tidying up. He’s humming to himself, but his expression is a tiny bit off.

He notices Doyoung. “Oh, did I wake you? Sorry.” Pausing in what he’s doing, he reaches over to pull the covers up over Doyoung again.

Doyoung holds his wrist. “No, it’s okay. Might as well get up.”

With some effort, he pulls himself up. Reaching for the bedside table, he feels for his glass of water and brings it up to take a sip. His mouth feels like cotton, along with his head.

Taeyong doesn’t go back to whatever it was that he was doing, just stares at Doyoung. “What?”

Shaking his head, Taeyong looks down. “Just checking if you were fine.”

He’s always like this. Ever since Doyoung started getting headaches that never truly went away, Taeyong was determined to stay at his side as much as possible and always ask if he was okay. Most of the time, he was, just the dull ache present through his day. On the rare times that it was unbearable, Doyoung asked for the help. But really, Taeyong didn’t have to be too concerned.

Doyoung hums. “Yeah, I’m okay.” He blinks away the sleep in his eyes. “How about you? You’re a little…” He makes a gesture with his hands.

Taeyong stills for the slightest moment, before he offers a weak smile. “I’m okay. You know how some mornings can be.”

He did know. Some mornings just weren’t the best, and usually there wasn’t an actual explanation for it. Doyoung never prodded, and Taeyong never felt like he had to talk about it too much.

For a while, Doyoung just lets Taeyong do what he needs to do. He doesn’t feel like getting out of bed just yet, wiggling his socked feet under the covers. Taeyong hums as he works, a tune that Doyoung can’t quite identify. Doyoung finds himself humming along to whatever it is.

When he’s done, Taeyong silently crawls into bed. He sits on top of the covers, and Doyoung wonders if he’s cold. Taeyong only wordlessly puts his head on Doyoung’s shoulder. A hand ends up on Doyoung’s lap, palm up, and Doyoung traces lazy circles into it.

“I don’t wanna think right now,” Taeyong admits. Doyoung feels him sag against his side.

“You don’t have to.” Doyoung leans his head against Taeyong’s.

After a few beats of silence, Taeyong protests, “But I have to think about a lot of things.” He almost pulls away from Doyoung’s shoulder.

A gentle hand guides him back. “Not right now. Let yourself not think about anything, just for now.”

Taeyong complies, slowly relaxing again. Doyoung keeps tracing circles into his palm. 

Doyoung has almost fallen back asleep like that, when Taeyong’s soft murmuring nearly startles him awake. “Doyoung?”

Humming, Doyoung uses an arm to pull Taeyong close. Isn’t he cold? Why isn’t he pulling up the covers over himself?

“Doyoung,” Taeyong repeats, and his voice is slurring, like he was close to sleep himself. “I don’t know what to do.”

He rubs a comforting hand up and down Taeyong’s arm. “You don’t have to, not right now, okay? I don’t know what it is, but you always know what to do in the end. I trust you.”

That pacifies Taeyong for a bit. He’s still humming, a subdued sound that Doyoung’s ears can barely pick up. With Doyoung’s soothing rubs and the lull of their breathing together, he seems to have fallen back asleep. 

After some maneuvering, Doyoung manages to pull the blankets over him. They sleep like that, and nothing wakes them up for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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